THE NUCLEAR MOAN
I am attached to your raving whore blackout.
I am your killer’s vital sauce
Leftover from the mosquito’s bloodless cup.
On the spook I am the stuffed sheep
Who graze a vengeful plural.
Immortal is my buzzing stage.
I recite parables saluting spinal chord rockets
Launched above abundant fields of captured statues.
I bite frantic rabbit mothers squirting bobcat fathers.
Racing cars twice as large, I as the cage
Convert plastic dolls
Estranging maggots flocking.
To all the tiny antenna heathens
Who fish my mystical abyss,
I await a substance,
Aghast in the spoiled skins
Repelling pop-eyed executions.
I am that gang-bang survivor.
I am a lurid and lucky toe tag.
At the center of your scrambled trance,
I harvest a nuclear moan,
And punch square in the nose
Freezers of endangered genital pie.
One-dollar crazy glue!
Into my bald pond
Spicy hawks steady
Their last meals and stay underground
Must a boundless fuel surprise my corpse
Yearning the none yet
Probe of Saturn teethes stank mint. Poets make me barf. Witches make me hard. Saturn’s awful to get cummed on. I want to be his pretty girl.
My foot’s a shark inventing tortilla meadows. Bring me a shackle to beat sleep sing-songing hunks. I’ve been freaked.
I’m Muslim you silly geeks! Shiite until the mend of airbornes. Or fried to apply time. Phony blueberry bushes at Dachau survive. Dachau’s a slut.
THE TREMOR BOAT
Puppet storms heighten
Lost on a thorny raft of serpent legs.
Demon spells drown
Simple blister swallows
Kissing on breaded mouths.
Out of its blizzard,
The oinking sea
Chases my soul under sand.
Her land of no return
Finds my ski mask
Connecting the tallest,
With some disguised thief
Slicing feathered tides.
Odd veins off her heart
Are placed down my throat
To pull free and relieve
Cursed images within.
My perishing essence
Spits forth the bottomless pit
Of oil-owned words
Sin and mercy beyond a matter self.
THE OLD RACE
Aboard the shipwreck,
We wear moist wings of bandit grease.
Blue shrapnel bones exit our dusty breath.
There is nothing here.
This is a ramble.
Marinating the furnace,
We torture a widowed owl.
Wicker smiles sacrifice our agony for rust.
There is something here.
This is a rodeo.
Objects unwrap themselves
To navigate mammal shadows.
Mute gifts banish themselves
To swap thirst for melancholy sod.
A greedy urinal of holograms
Eats its wife raw.
With wrinkles like a coffin lid,
My hands rinse a child’s finite scalp.
Swarms the unsung drought
Frozen in chunks of water
Flowing apart from the frozen chunks of river.
RC Miller lives in Metuchen, N.J. Most recently, he authored Pussy Guerilla Face Banana Fuck Nut (Les Editions Du Zaporogue). He maintains a blog at http://visionblues.blogspot.com/